Christmas With the Carsons
by olehistorian
Summary: This story is a compilation of four chapters taken from Chelsie Christmas A-Z. These chapters were part of an AU in which Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes were married and are shop owners in Downton Village. There is no new material here but this is just a way to organize the chapters that were spread across a broader series of story prompts.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: "Do you ever wish you'd gone another way? Worked in a shop or a factory? Had a wife or children?" Well, here is their other way. For this one, we are going a little AU. I hope that you enjoy. **

Christmas Eve, 1897

Elsie Carson hears the bell that hangs on the front door jingle one last time and the bolt turn as _he_ turns the key in the lock They have been busy, this Christmas Eve, as people are preparing for the holiday tomorrow, picking up last minute items. Wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows. Some candy sticks, biscuits, and tea. Tobacco and pipe cleaners. Notions. Odds and ends. She hears the heavy tread of her husband as he climbs the stairs to their quarters above the store. She knows that he is tired. His step is slow. She hears him sigh every now and then. His day has been long but she smiles. She is immensely proud of him. He has done well for himself. For them. He has two employees and a delivery boy. His village shop also serves as Downton's post office and she as the postmistress. They live comfortably, fashionably. Their home is tidy, she sees to that. Her training as a housemaid having not been wasted. She never regrets leaving the Abbey for him.

He toes his shoes off, picks them up, and places them near the door. He always keeps them polished to a mirror finish. A perfectionist, he dresses immaculately and is well groomed. She reaches up, the errant curl that refuses to stay in place falls to his forehead, she brushes it back. Gives him a welcoming kiss. Helps him off with his coat and hangs it on the coat tree nearby. "Your supper is in the oven. I'll get it," she says softly as he sits at the kitchen table.

"I hope that you didn't wait," he says kindly. She shakes her head. No. He sighs. "It's been a busy day. That Mrs. Patmore sent a footman down from the Abbey with a list a mile long. Last minute things that she needed for tomorrow," he remarks as she places his plate and a glass of beer in front of him. "Something about the housekeeper not ordering the right stores and self-raising flour." He hungrily tucks into his supper. Elsie is a fine cook and he always appreciates what she places in front of him.

"I don't miss the rows between those two, I'll tell you that," she laughs softly. "If I were housekeeper, I'd not tolerate any of her cheek."

"I dare say you wouldn't," he agrees, with a mouth full of food.

The house is warm, a fire roaring in the fireplace in the sitting room, the candlelight soft. Charles looks across the table at his wife and counts himself lucky. Wonders how he caught the fiery Scottish lass that had footmen and _that_ farmer buzzing about her skirts. His blood boils every time he thinks of Joe Burns (even after seven years of marriage). But there she sits, beautiful as the night he first saw her at the village dance, smiling at him.

"Donal, Catriona, and the children will be here for luncheon tomorrow," Elsie says matter of factly. "So much for peace and quiet." The words are out of her mouth before she realizes it and she wishes that she could take them back. Sees the look of hurt on his face though he tries to hide it. Charles often becomes melancholy at Christmas. He never mentions it; she does not push, as she is wont to do. She reaches across the table and takes his hand. Rubs her thumb across his knuckles. _I'm sorry._ She says with the gesture. He gives a little smile in answer. _It's all right. It's not your fault._

They've not spoken in some time about the little ones who have never been born. That they are getting on. He is forty-one and she is thirty-five and they long for the pitter-patter of little feet dancing through the house. Tiny, excited voices waking them before daybreak to tell them that Father Christmas visited while they were sleeping. That he left little Charlie a toy train or little Margaret a doll.

xxxxxx

Changed into their nightclothes, Elsie sits on the floor in the sitting room with wrapping paper and ribbon scattered round while Charles draws from his pipe and nurses the last bit of fine whisky; Donal has promised to gift him some when he arrives in the morning. "Goodness," Elsie exclaims, "I didn't realize that we had quite so many gifts for Moira and Fiona."

"You spoil them," Charles laughs easily. He thinks of how they would spoil girls of their own. "But, that's as it should be I suppose," he adds wistfully. Elsie looks up to him. He is a good uncle. Plays with the girls when they visit, lets them help with the store. Slips them candy sticks and biscuits when their parents are not looking. Elsie finishes with the last of the packages and places it under the tree but takes pause, picks another up, runs a hand across it, and makes her decision.

She moves toward her husband and he pulls her into his lap. When he grunts, she swats at his chest but cannot help to smile a bit. "What was that grunt for Mr. Carson?" she teases.

"Oh nothing," he lied. He does think that she might have put on a stone.

"I thought you might like to open this present tonight, before everyone gets here tomorrow."

He takes the box from her. It is not terribly heavy. His experience tells him that it might be a shirt or scarf something that she has made for him. She shifts so that he can open the box. He pulls the ribbon away, draping it playfully about her neck. The paper falls away easily and he opens the box, mystified.

He handles the contents of the box carefully, reverently, and then looks to his wife. She is worrying her lip, as she is wont to do when she is upset or worried. He notices the mist that covers her very blue eyes. He asks a question with his eyes. _Does this mean what I think it means?_ She nods. _Yes, darling. It does._

"When did you find the time?" he asks quietly.

"I think that we found the time together," she laughs through happy tears.

"That's not what I meant," he says leaning up to kiss her deeply. "I _meant_ when did you find the time to knit the little gown, the cap, and the booties? They're lovely."

She strokes his cheek, behind his ear. "A woman has her secrets."

"When might we expect…."

"…in the spring. Dr. Black thinks at the end of May," she finishes. "Happy Christmas, Charles."

"Happiest of Christmases, Elsie," he rejoices.

**We may revisit this little AU at some point in the future if ****_you_**** think that we should. Perhaps with a reading of Twas the Night Before Christmas? Let me know what you think if you are inclined. I appreciate all of the Tumblr love, reblogs, reviews, favorites, follows, etc. Happy Chelsie Christmas. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Back to our AU for a bit. Plus, I am skipping ahead in the alphabet as I will not be able to finish all 26 letters by Christmas. This is Christmas 1898. And a different take on Jim Carter's favorite scene (the one with Carson and Mrs. Hughes discussing the story of Lady Mary wishing to run away, steal the silver, and the six pence)  
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Three weeks before Christmas 1898

For Elsie Carson Christmastime at Downton's village post office was busy. She found herself twice as busy as usual dealing with extra parcels, letters, and Christmas cards. The children of the village posted letters to Father Christmas and their parents sent extra letters to their families and friends. The servants who worked at the Abbey all sent letters home to parents and relatives and the Abbey received dozens of extra parcels and Christmas cards during the season. Though she was extremely busy, she was very happy. As she sorted the post and filled the cubbies, she smiled. She looked over her shoulder to find her daughter sleeping quietly in the cot beside her desk. Pink complexion, sparse dark hair, dark eyelashes, a dimple in her chin like her father, Elsie was smitten with her little bairn. The daughter that she thought they would never have. She often found herself staring at the child, watching her breathe, mesmerized that God had entrusted Charles and her with such a precious gift. And Charles. Never had a man been more taken with a child than Charles Carson was with his daughter. At first afraid of holding her, he soon brought her to their bed every chance he could, laid her in between them. He held them both close; called them his girls. Elsie was so in her lost in her thoughts that she failed to hear the bell on counter behind her ringing.

Then the bell rang louder, shaking Elsie from her thoughts. She turned to find a young, well-dressed girl standing in before her. "How may I help?"

"I need to post these letters, please," a little raven-haired girl an imperious voice said matter-of-factly.

Elsie immediately recognized the girl but was surprised to find her in the village, much less in the post office. "And where is your mother, miss?" she asked.

Ignoring the question, the little girl pressed on with her case. "You are Mrs. Carson, the Post Mistress? Can you help me? I need to post these letters. One is to my Grandmamma in America. I am running away from home and I wish to tell her that I am coming. The other is to Father Christmas so that he knows where I may be found," the little girl, who could have been no more than six or seven years old, said defiantly.

Elsie bit her lip to keep from reprimanding the girl for her impertinence but it would not do to reprimand _this_ young lady. "Yes, I am Mrs. Carson. Let me see your letters." The girl passed her letters to Elsie and immediately Elsie realized that there were no envelopes. "Well, you will need envelopes. Why don't you come behind the desk? I will get envelopes and you can fill them out." The girl did as Elsie instructed her and Elsie sat her at the desk and placed two envelopes in front of her. She indicated that Father Christmas and the North Pole was sufficient address and assured the girl that it would arrive in time for Christmas. Mary wrote 'Grandmamma' and 'America' on the other.

"And why have you decided to run away from home?" Elsie asked as she placed the letters into the envelopes and sealed them.

The little girl set her jaw, lifting it slightly. "Because my parents do not pay attention to me and I hate my sister."

Elsie nodded as she placed the letters in the stack with all of the others. She turned back to the girl who looked a little less confident than a moment earlier. "Now why would you say that?"

"Is this your baby?" the girl asked, again ignoring a question that she did not wish to answer.

"Yes, she is."

"What is her name?"

"Mary Elspeth."

"Mary, like me," the little girl surmised as a smile passed across her lips. "She is very beautiful." The elder Mary looked to Elsie, a question in her eyes. With a nod of approval, Elsie lifted the baby and carefully placed her into the child's eager arms. Mary cradled the baby close, careful to hold her tightly, fully aware of the trust that Mrs. Carson had placed in her. "She's very little," Mary said quietly as she smoothed her hand across the top of the baby's head.

"Yes. She was born last May."

"This is her first Christmas," Mary said, more than asked. Elsie answered with a hum. Mary thought for a moment. "Mama and Papa have forgotten about me. Sybil is very pretty and very sweet and she is the baby. Though not as little a baby as this Mary. Sybil is three. Everyone loves her. And Edith, well, she is very mean and we hate each other." Mary looked down at the little baby in her arms, and then placed a kiss to her forehead.

"So, you're feeling left out?" Elsie asked sympathetically.

"They won't miss me if I am gone," Mary said rebelliously. She then turned a steely gaze on Elsie. "So, if you could help me, please."

xxxxx

"Mr. Carson, this is Lady Mary Crawley," Elsie began "she is setting out on her own and will need some supplies. She is traveling to America. She tells me that her Grandmamma lives there." She dared a wink over Lady Mary's shoulder. "She hasn't any money but she does have a couple of silver candlesticks in her bag that she is willing to trade for the things that she needs."

Charles rubbed the back of his neck, thought for a moment, and finally replied, "Well, let us see them."

Mary reached into her bag and tugged out first one and then a second elaborate silver candlestick. She handed them both to Charles who placed them on the counter in front of them. He looked them over very carefully, considering the intricateness of design and the weight of them. He pursed his lips in contemplation and then looked to Lady Mary who though trying very hard to appear confident, seemed worried. Charles then looked to Elsie who nodded and smiled slightly.

"What items do you require for your journey?" Charles asked seriously, as he took a notepad and pencil from his shirt pocket and prepared to make a list of the items she requested.

The little girl smiled, relieved that the tall, imposing shopkeeper was willing to help her. She squared her shoulders and began to rattle off her list. For her train ride, she would require: peppermint sticks, a blanket, a teddy bear, and a tin of chocolate biscuits Elsie reminded Charles that Lady Mary would need a valise, at least three dresses, two pairs of shoes, some undergarments, and a hat. Of course, she would need help purchasing a train ticket to London, another to Liverpool, and then a passage aboard a ship bound for America. She also needed cash for food and other things that might come up. Mary's smile widened with glee that Mr. and Mrs. Carson were so willing to help her escape Downton for America.

Charles made to gather all of the items that Mary required and placed them on the counter near a very large looking machine. Mary had not seen a machine like it before. She inquired what it was and was told that it was a cash register that added the cost of her purchases. Once Charles added all of the items on the counter, he frowned. He looked to Elsie and shook his head.

"I'm sorry milady," he said shifting his gaze to Mary, "it seems that there will not be enough money left for your train fare nor your ship passage."

Elsie saw the girl's shoulders sag and her smile fade. She reached down and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. Charles moved from behind the counter and knelt down in front of her. He took her tiny hands in his giant ones. He watched as her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall.

"Milady, you are very courageous but not quite ready to start out on your own. One day you will be ready and I have every confidence that you will do very well for yourself. Now, if you were my little girl, I would be very sad if you ran away. Especially at Christmastime. Just as I love my Mary very much, your Mama and Papa love you. What say I walk you home?" Mary sniffed back her tears and Charles gave her a hug. Elsie wrapped up the candlesticks and placed them in Mary's bag. She placed several peppermint sticks in a paper sack and handed them to girl, giving her a hug. Mary thanked Elsie and asked if she could give the baby a hug, which she did.

xxxxx

Charles walked Lady Mary Crawley back to the Abbey that day returning her to the safe embrace of her mother. Mrs. Crawley thanked Mr. Carson for his trouble and before he left, Mary gave him one final embrace. On Christmas Eve, a footman from the Abbey arrived at the shop with a delivery addressed to the Carson family. Charles and Elsie opened the package to find a Christmas card addressed to them from Robert and Cora Crawley and an engraved silver baby rattle for Mary that read: from Mary Crawley to Mary Carson Happy First Christmas.

**Thank you for your reblogs, reviews, favorites, and follows. If you are inclined, please let me know what you think.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Twas The Night Before Christmas**

**Christmas Eve, 1904**

The glow from gas lamps flickered, casting dancing shadows and light across the streets of Downton Village. Her shops closed and lights extinguished, the village's homes were still and even the Dog and Duck was relatively quiet. The streets were not abandoned completely, however, as people from the village and the Abbey made their way to St. Michael's for midnight mass.

Charles hurried Elsie and Mary from the shop, closed the door behind him, and turned the key in the lock. He felt a tug on his trousers and looked down to find his daughter looking up at him with her mother's deep blue eyes, a question hiding behind them. Charles smiled, reached down, and picked her up. Instantly, Mary wrapped her arms around her father's neck and hugged him as tight as a six-year-old girl could. "Thank you Daddy." With one arm wrapped around their daughter, Charles offered his other to her mother and Elsie tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. Together they walked down the street toward the old stone church, speaking to fellow villagers along the way. Elsie inquired of Mrs. Watkins, who owned the Rose Tea Room. They discussed Mrs. Watkins newest grandchild, a grandson called Thomas. Elsie smiled as she listened to the woman proudly chatter on about the newborn. She hoped that one day she might be the one bragging about a grandchild or two.

They came upon Mr. Molesley and he chatted amiably about his son, Joseph, the one who was training to become a valet. Charles looked to Elsie and she smiled, thankful that they had gone another way.

xxxxxxx

"Just one present, mind," Charles reminded Mary as he handed her a box wrapped in shiny red paper and a green ribbon. Charles smiled broadly as he watched Mary rip into the box and pull back the tissue to uncover a new book. She pulled the book from the box and looked quizzically at her father. Elsie smiled sadly. The book was Charles' choosing and not something that a little girl might expect as a Christmas gift from her parents but Charles had insisted. He had hoped that their girl would develop the love of reading that he and Elsie shared. Elsie noticed that Charles and Mary both looked a bit crestfallen. She knew that Mary had wanted a doll and she knew that Charles never wanted to disappoint Mary.

Elsie took the book from her daughter and looked it over admiringly. "Ummm…" Elsie mused. "Mary, darling, I can remember the first book I received. My father gave me a copy of Wuthering Heights. He was a farmer and believed in practical things but that Christmas, I was about thirteen, he gave me the most impractical thing. It was my favorite Christmas memory, to that time. My very own copy of a favorite book. You are very lucky that your Daddy has given you your very first book and you are only six."

She handed the book back to Mary and the little girl's eyes grew wide as she flipped through the pages of the book looking at the words she could not read, but admiring the pictures she understood. Looking up with bright eyes, she asked her father, "Will you read it to me, Daddy?"

Charles beamed with pride, "Perhaps, your Mummy will help you to change into your nightgown and I will read it before you go to sleep. It is very late and Father Christmas will not visit us until you are fast asleep."

xxxxxx

Elsie settled in next to Charles on the settee, he wrapped an arm around her, and Mary climbed up onto his lap. Mary clung to her favorite blanket and quietly rubbing a well-worn corner of it. Charles opened the book and Elsie helped him to turn the pages as he began to read:

_Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled down for a long winter's nap…. _

Charles rich baritone lulled his daughter into sleepiness and Mary rested her head upon his shoulder. Elsie closed the book and laid it aside while Charles gathered the little girl in his arms. The little family made their way back to Mary's room and Elsie drew back the bed covers. Charles helped Mary crawl into bed and under the covers. Little hands balled into fists, Mary rubbed her eyes. Charles smoothed the covers and tucked them in around his girl.

"Goodnight, my sweet lass," Charles pressed a kiss into Mary's hair.

"Goodnight Daddy. Please leave Father Christmas some biscuits and brandy. And some carrots for the reindeer. I forgot." Mary mumbled sleepily. Charles promised and made his way into the kitchen to do exactly as she had asked.

Elsie kissed Mary's forehead wishing her Happy Christmas and pleasant dreams of sugar plum fairies dancing. "Mummy?" Mary asked.

"Hmmm"

"Tell Daddy that I liked my book," the little girl requested as she drifted to sleep. Elsie smiled as she stroked her daughter's hair. She marveled at the little girl that lay sleeping before her. The little girl that she thought they might never have.

xxxxx

"You taste of brandy and biscuits," she smiled against his lips. As they lay facing one another, her hand traced over his jaw, his ear, her fingers lovingly combed through the graying locks at his temples. She loved this man more than she could tell him, more than he could ever really know.

"Well, I wanted to make certain that we left out the very best for Father Christmas. I just sampled a bit," he laughed, his belly rumbling close to hers. She hummed merrily against his lips before pulling him a little closer for another kiss.

"She's a trooper, our lass," Elsie remarked as her finger studied the cleft in his chin. "To sit so very still while Mr. Travis went on and on. Even the Crawley girls were beginning to act anxious and I think that the Dowager Countess actually fell asleep once or twice," Elsie laughed softly. Her laugher stilled when she felt Charles hand slide under the hem of her nightgown, trail up her calf and to the back of her thigh. She closed her eyes, worrying her bottom lip as she enjoyed the exquisite warmth of her husband's touch, the gentle strength of his embrace.

Charles trailed his hand down the length of his wife's leg with the back of his fingers and brought it to rest on her hip. He marveled at the sight before him. His wife. All warm flesh and soft. Skin smooth as glass and flawless as the finest porcelain. The satin of her night gown (how proud he was that he had convinced her that she deserved it; to sleep in something she thought impractical) against the freckled skin of her chest. He smoothed his thumb over her cheek, high, regal cheekbones and he gazed lovingly into the deepest of blue eyes; the eyes that first captivated him at the village dance so many years before. He brushed a tendril of hair from her face; dark hair kissed by flame (a trait shared with her Irish grandmother) that seemed to come alive and dance in the firelight.

Elsie slowly opened her eyes to find her husband's darkened, his intentions, his need as clear as her own. She leaned in and began to slip the buttons of his pajama top open. Once she freed all the buttons from their confines, she pushed his shirt open and smoothed her hands across the broadness of his chest. She inhaled a shuttering breath. He drew her close, kissed her slowly, reverently. Elsie Carson had everything that she had ever wanted under the roof of her house. A lovely life in the village, a healthy little girl in the next room, and her man close.

**TBC… The next installment will be posted as part of the Secret Santa exchange. I hope that the recipient approves and that you all do as well. I appreciate you following along and I have really enjoyed writing this little AU world away from the Abbey (something I never thought I would admit). I appreciate those of you who have followed along here, re-blogged on Tumblr, reviewed, favorited, followed, etc. If you are inclined, I'd love to hear from you. Happy Christmas.**


	4. Chapter 4

Very Happy Christmas –

A/N: This is part of the Chelsie Christmas Exchange and is dedicated to Dillydally. Happy Christmas.

Christmas Morning, 1904

The sun begins to peak around the curtains and the embers in the fire are low; Elsie Carson lays close to her husband, his head resting on her stomach, his arm slung low around her hip. As she combs her fingers through his curled hair, mussed from her passionate embraces and from sleep, Elsie wonders whether she lays in his embrace or he in in hers before thinking that it does not matter. Thinking that as they lay here, together, the business of marriage is indeed one continuous union. A process of uniting over time in all sorts of ways. They had laid claim to one another years ago, from the moment their eyes locked at the village dance. When he slipped a ring onto her finger and they made promises before God and the church. When their bodies joined in wedded harmony that first glorious night. As they work together side by side every day. No, she thinks, the embrace of husband and wife is a long one. A complex thing. She smoothes her fingertips down along his neck and shoulder, and then traces the path again. Sometimes she wonders if it is wrong, unseemly, for a woman to admire her man so. To admire his form, to love the feel of him under her touch.

Hearing a thud on the floor in the room across the corridor, Elsie smiles contentedly. A moment later little cry of glee; Mary has discovered the contents of the stocking that hangs at the foot of her bed. Elsie reaches across the bed for Charles' pajama top and gently shakes him rousing him from his slumber. Charles looks up to his wife, a sleepy, crooked smile painted across his face. He knows that their little lass will bound into their room any minute excitedly proclaiming that Father Christmas as visited and left presents under the tree. Charles pats his wife's hip, a gesture of "Good Morning" and scoots up in the bed. Taking his shirt, he buttons it and gives Elsie a Christmas morning kiss. Just as Charles has predicted they hear the sound of little feet quickly hurrying toward their door. A rap on the door, a question asked, an answer given, and the door flings open.

"Mummy, Daddy, come, and see," Mary cries, jumping onto the bed, bedsprings squeaking in protest at the little girl's exuberance.

"And just what is it that you wish for us to come and see?" Charles asks with feigned ignorance. This is their tradition. Each year since she was two, Mary bounds into their room, announcing the arrival of Father Christmas while her father and mother pretend unawareness.

"He's been! He's been!" Mary shouts happily, bouncing with all of the enthusiasm, she can muster.

"Who has been?" her mother asks seriously but with mischief in her eyes.

"Father Christmas!" she insists.

Mary barely contains her happiness as she waits for her parents to pull on their dressing gowns, then taking each one by a hand she leads them into the sitting room where she excitedly points to the plate where Charles left the biscuits for Father Christmas. She proudly makes mention that he ate all of Elsie's shortbread biscuits only leaving behind a few crumbs. Of course, he drank _all_ of the brandy and the jolly old elf had taken the carrots for the reindeer. Charles and Elsie look to one another with delight at the enchantment of their little one.

As they gather round the tree, Charles sinks into his comfortable leather chair and Elsie sits on the arm of it, next to him. Mary volunteers to hand out the presents, giving her father one and then her mother. Charles pulls the string and the paper pulls away. He opens the box to reveal two new pens; they are from Elsie. He thanks her, gives her kiss in payment. She opens her gift from him, reveals a lovely broach; tells him that he should not have, that it is too extravagant. He hushes her and tells her that she deserves it and much more.

Meanwhile, gleefully, and with gusto, Mary rips into paper and boxes and with each gift becomes more and more excited. She is gifted with a new dress and a pair of button boots, a set of paper dolls, a pair of ice skates – the lake is frozen solid and her parents have promised to teach her to skate this year – a tea set, a china doll, and a doll pram. Elsie remarks that Mary must have been a very good girl for Father Christmas to have left so _many_ gifts for her this year. Charles coughs under his breath, and remarks that yes, Mary has been a very good girl indeed. Mary cannot help but to be wreathed in smiles.

xxxxx

Elsie listens from the kitchen as Charles and Mary busy themselves around the table. Since Mary turned four, it has become their tradition that she helps her father prepare the table for Christmas luncheon. While Elsie readies the food, they lay the linens, the plates, the candlesticks, and spoons, knives, and forks. They are expecting guests this year. Elsie's mother is arriving any minute (her father dead long ago) and a cousin of Charles' is walking up from a cottage not far away.

"Daddy, what was your favorite Christmas present," Mary asks as she placed a spoon near her mother's plate.

"Well, let me think," Charles said, coming behind her placing a knife next to Elsie's spoon. He hazards a glance into the kitchen catching his wife's eye; they exchange smiles. "A dress, a bonnet, and a pair of booties," he finishes very seriously.

Mary turns to her father, her mouth hanging open in a very unladylike fashion. "A dress!" she exclaims, "Daddies don't wear dresses and bonnets." Charles thinks he hears a giggle from the kitchen and he looks up to see Elsie's back to him, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Um, no," he clears his throat, "but their little girls do." Mary looks at him in confusion. He motions for her to continue with her duties as he explains. "You see, when Mummy found out that you were going to be born, she made the most wonderful dress, bonnet, and booties for you. At Christmastime, she put those things in a box and gave them to me as a gift. She was letting me know that a little baby was going to be born to us."

Mary places the last spoon on the crisp, white tablecloth and turns to look at her father. "You mean like the angel told Joseph that baby Jesus was going to be born?" she asks very seriously.

Charles laughs at his daughter's innocence. He bends, kneels to meet her on her level. Hugs her tightly, places a kiss to her hair. "Well, not exactly," he began, "but Mummy and I did pray for a little lad or lass. But you know," he says, tapping his finger on the tip of her nose, "I always wished for a little girl that looked like Mummy." He watches as Mary's face lights up; her Daddy always wanted a little lass, not a boy like most Daddies. "We prayed for a very long time. So long, that I thought we might never have a child." Charles pauses, catches Elsie's eye in the kitchen. She smiles a watery smile, her eyes covered in a misty haze. He speaks to Mary while watching Elsie. "So when the doctor told Mummy that you were going to be born, it was a miracle. God had heard our prayer and sent you to be our very own angel," he finishes, watching tears fall from Elsie's eyes and her hand fly to mouth to suppress her cries. He smoothes his hand over Mary's cheek and then sends her on her way to play with her toys and makes his way into the kitchen.

"Elsie, why are you crying? Have I upset you?" he asks. Her back is to him, her hands clutching the edge of the sink, her knuckles white. She shakes her head but cannot find the words to speak. He wraps his arms around her waist and she leans back into his embrace. Later, when games have been played and Charles' cousin has returned home, her mother and Mary have gone to bed, she will tell him that the eloquence of his explanation to their daughter moved her to tears and rendered her speechlessness. That this reserved Englishman, opened his heart to their daughter, laid it bare, that he called her a miracle, an angel, means more to her than any broach he could buy her. That she will remember this moment as her favorite Christmas memory her whole life long.

Happiest of Christmases to everyone.


End file.
